


Have-Nots

by hoperise



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Present Tense, Sadness, There's no way this was going to end well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9538355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoperise/pseuds/hoperise
Summary: "Hey, you ever hold one of these before?" Murtaugh asks.As a matter of fact, he hasn't.





	

_i want all that is not mine_

\- smother, daughter 

* * *

 

"Hey, you ever hold one of these?" Murtaugh asks, something like mischief in his voice.

As a matter of fact, he hasn't.

The first thing that comes to his mind (subsequent to _please god no_ ) exits his mouth in a rush - the first concern a new parent was supposed to have when offering their baby to another - "No, I haven't washed my hands in a long time."

And then _like it's nothing like this isn't his whole world_ his hands are full of eighteen-month-old Harper, sleepy but aware of the strange new man in her room.

Murtaugh absconds to find his keys and Riggs is very suddenly alone with this whole other human.

She's heavier than he expected.

He pulls her close, awkwardly shifts his grip, one arm at a time to support her bum, and thinks this is nothing like parenting class.

She's warm and weighty, her flannel footie pajamas the softest fabric he'd allowed in contact with himself since

well

And her hands. They're so tiny, so perfectly complete, with fingernails and wrinkles and she's holding him now, clinging to his shirt with her other hand _what does he do about that_

She smells like baby powder and is entirely unaware of the gaping chasm she is nestled against.

Somehow Riggs is still breathing, but the dinner he didn't expect to eat that night is curdling in his stomach and he's wondering what his boy's voice would have sounded like.

Harper is real and heavy and pulling on his buttons and there's an emptiness, a yawning maw inside Riggs where his boy should be, and he's stunned with the hammer blow that he had no idea what he had been missing, the reality of the person that was lost.

He should know these things - his arms should know the weight of his boy, the sound of his laugh, the colour of his eyes, the shape of his nose.

If he was curious or shy.

What his name was.

They'd had a list of names, but she'd persuaded him to wait until the baby came to decide. She wanted to see what kind of person he looked like first.

The death certificate read Riggs, (Baby).

Could Riggs pick one now.

Should he put a name to this absence that had taken up residence in one side of his chest, keeping him from drawing a full breath? 

He's not sure what his expression looks like when Murtaugh takes Harper from his hands to settle her in her crib.

 _wasn't really in the cards_  echoes in the cavern in his chest and he discovers that he's lied. He was, he was, he was a father. And now he is not. 

He's left with empty arms and the scent of baby powder on his collar, and he didn't know it was possible to fall any deeper into the black.  
  
Didn't know it would be any easier to run into gunfire.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone give this man a hug. Or ten.
> 
> Written as super quick drabble to get my mind off the fact that I just finished the last paper of my undergrad.
> 
> Chapters of my Leverage/Librarians crossover are forthcoming - I wanted to get a goodly amount of words down before I started posting anything. Hang in there, kids.


End file.
